


I Don't Know You

by cookiesfromscratch



Category: The Rose (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Like dumb romance like a Netflix Original kind of romance, New Year's Eve, Oneshot, Original Character(s), Romance, Shenanigans, Strangers to Lovers, Two characters being dumb and cute, kind of, that's it that's the whole plot, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiesfromscratch/pseuds/cookiesfromscratch
Summary: In a bougie penthouse bar on New Year's Eve, seconds after midnight, two strangers meet under some rather embarrassing circumstances.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	I Don't Know You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [staticfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticfiction/gifts).



> I have no idea what I'm doing

“Ten!”

Obviously there are at least a hundred other things I would rather be doing than what I am doing right now.

“Nine!”

And I can think of about fifty places I would rather be than where I am right now.

“Eight!”

Why do we even follow these stupid traditions?

“Seven!”

Some people stay up until midnight. Others get up early and watch the sunrise.

“Six!”

Some sociopaths even throw parties so they can get hammered in between.

“Five!”

And I’m one of the dumbasses attending one of those parties.

“Four!”

Only to end up running to the outer hall, tears streaming down my face in search of a bathroom.

“Three!”

Just to find that the only bathroom available is taken by some other dumbass who can’t be bothered to participate in the countdown. 

“Two!”

Which is fine, totally fine. I’ll just squat out here by the door in the hallway between the bar and the staircase, shivering and sobbing like the pathetic fool I knew I’d be if I decided to show up here.

“One!”

But seriously, who the hell is hogging this bathroom?

“Happy New Year!”

The bar erupts into cheers, and a series of party poppers can be heard from inside. I bury my face in my hands. A moment later the bathroom door bursts open next to me, nearly giving me a heart attack. 

“Dammit!” I hear as a figure in a long black coat sweeps past me. Just as I think I will go unnoticed, the stranger turns to me, “Did they already have the countdown?”

When we make eye contact my reply immediately gets caught in my throat. How perfect. A handsome young man that I have never met, who spent the past five minutes acting as a barrier between me and a quiet place to cry, is now taking a good long look at me. Me, a pathetic girl squatting by the door in a sequined dress, eyes red from crying and cheap mascara smeared all over my face. As if this night wasn’t miserable enough.

“Whoa,” he says, leaving his question unanswered, “are you ok?”

I stand up, trying to stretch out the numbness in my legs. This poor boy just got caught up between a very inconvenient trip to the bathroom and the New Year’s countdown, only to be presented with a crying girl. He certainly doesn’t deserve to be told off for something that is out of his control. Unfortunately for him, I just spent the past five minutes angrily stewing over whoever the asshole hogging the goddamn bathroom is, and that asshole happens to be him. 

“To be honest, it would have been much better if I could be inside the bathroom crying instead of out here,” I say, my words dripping with snark, “but obviously that can’t be helped.”

The guilty and hurt expression on his face immediately makes my stomach drop. I feel like I just kicked a puppy.

“I…” my words catch in my throat again, “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

I turn to open the door, but I feel a hand under my arm. I find the young man at my side, gently stopping me from going in.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s really not your fault,” I tell him, “nothing you have to apologize for.”

He shakes his head, “No, I… there’s no toilet paper in there. Here, use these.”

He pulls out a small packet of wet tissues from his pocket and hands it to me. The packet has a sticker on it with a photo of a nearby church and the words “Jesus Loves You” in script at the top.This was no doubt handed to him by one of the aunties on the street advertising their religion.

“Thanks,” I mutter as I pull out a tissue and use it to wipe my cheeks.

“Don’t thank me,” he replies with a dry chuckle, “thank Jesus.”

I let out a choked laugh as I wipe delicately around my eyes. I have no idea if I am effectively removing the makeup from my face or just turning myself into a very distraught panda. The tears have stopped falling but I can still feel a lump in my throat. The young man watches my progress, making no move to leave my side. 

He raises a hand towards me hesitantly, “May I?”

I'm not entirely sure what he is asking but I'm already nodding and he's already pulling out another wet tissue. 

“You missed some spots,” he informs me.

When he starts wiping my face I become ten times more aware of him and how close he is to me. Even in the cold hallway I can feel the warmth emanating from him. When he’s finished, he places his hands on my shoulders and gives me one final look, his deep brown eyes scanning my face, lips parted in concentration. 

“All done--”

“All done?”

We both speak at the same time, leaving us both flustered. I clear my throat.

“Right, well that was… intimate. Jesus might not love that.”

The stranger laughs as he takes my blackened tissue from me and balls it together with his in his fist. With the other hand he pulls his phone out and points it at my face. Before I can protest he snaps a photo and turns the screen to me, showing me a very unflattering view of myself. 

“Makeup's gone,” he says.

“God, I look terrible,” I remark, “I look like I got punched in in both eyes. Delete that.”

He laughs again, harder this time. I feel like a real comedian. 

“How is the girl who was crying in the hall making me laugh now?” He muses, dropping his phone into his coat pocket, decidedly not deleting the incriminating photo of me. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning into me with a sly grin on his face, “I don't have anywhere I have to be until 5am. Do you wanna get out of here?”

\--------

The light fixtures in the convenience store are so harsh I feel like I've entered a higher definition and frame rate. The brightly colored chips and ramyun packages on the shelves look like they're vibrating in front of my eyes. How many Long Islands did I drink?

I turn to the window and rub my temples. Crying always gives me headaches. I hear someone drop into the chair next to me and a water bottle materializes in front of my face.

“Thank you, um…”

“Dojoon,” the young man tells me as he unscrews the cap of his own water bottle, “drink up. You must be dehydrated from all those tears.” 

I take a big gulp from my bottle as I watch Dojoon nearly drain his own, as if it was the first thing he drank all day. Well. Technically this water is the first thing both of us have drank all year. 

“Thirsty are we?” I ask him.

He grins, “sure.This is my first drink since last year.”

Oh my god.

“And here's our first snack of the year,” he says as he produces two packages of ice cream, classic Samanco fish with red bean and vanilla ice cream filling.

“You want to eat ice cream? On a cold day like today?”

Dojoon just smiles and shrugs, “Koreans eat spicy food in the summer, what's the difference?”

He places the second Samanco fish in front of me and rips open his own, taking a bite out of the waffle fish’s face. I look down at the brightly colored package, willing my eyes to focus properly.

“I haven't had one of these since I was a kid,” I tell him.

“Me neither,” he says, “back then it didn't matter what time of the year it was. It's warm down here, anyway. I miss the warm winters. It's freezing up in Seoul.”

“You're from Seoul?”

He nods, his mouth full of ice cream. Not wanting to be wasteful, I tear open the package in front of me and take a bite. I can't help but find my new friend familiar somehow. He has long brown hair, permed and parted in the middle, his bangs touching just above his eyes. A fairly common haircut in Korea. Under his coat is a black turtleneck, glitter clinging to it from the festivities inside the bar. He notices me noticing him and smiles, his lips sticky from the ice cream. I shouldn't be paying so much attention to his lips.

“How about you? Where are you from?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Here,” I tell him, “I'm from here. I was born in Busan.”

His smile grows and he leans in closer to me, “Me too! Imagine that.”

“It's not that surprising,” I say, taking another bite, “but I never would have guessed you were from here. Your accent is weird.”

“Well, I've lived in a couple different places. My friends say I speak my own language.”

He finishes off his Samanco fish, much more quickly than I can eat mine.

“So you're here for the party?” He asks. 

I nod.

“I hope it wasn't so sad it made you cry.”

I shake my head, but offer him no further explanation and continue to eat my ice cream waffle fish. I wonder what he was doing at the New Year’s Party. It was an ambitious, invite-only event held between the hours of 11pm and 6am so the partygoers could count down to midnight and go see the sunrise at the beach after the party. The organizers rented out a fancy penthouse bar in Gwangan and even hired a band to perform live at the event. I knew all about it because I was responsible for at least half of the planning, and I got to listen to the organizer himself complain about the other half for over a month. Despite being rather familiar with the guest list, I had no memory of any Dojoons on the list. 

“Have you ever watched the sunrise at the beach?” I ask him, changing the subject.

“I think so, when I was a kid. I hardly remember.”

Minus the partying, watching the New Year’s sunrise was a popular affair at Gwangan beach. By the time the party ends the streets will be crowded with families migrating to the beach trying to get a good view of the sky. 

“Me too,” I say, “I just remember the crowds. It's like any other sunrise.”

Dojoon checks his phone for the time, then sets it down on the table. If my mouth weren't full of ice cream I would remind him to delete the photo he took of me.

“We still have a few hours before then, so what shall we do?” He asks, giving me an expectant look.

I raise my brows at him, “it's up to me?”

“Yeah, it's your turn. I chose to come to the convenience store, so now you can choose what we do next.”

Instead of answering right away I stuff the last of my fish tail in my mouth and chew thoughtfully. He watches me patiently, his features settled into a Resting Nice Face. How could he look so familiar and yet I didn’t know who he was?

Part of me knows I should go back to the party. I put in so much effort to make it happen, it was my right to see it through to the end. Another part of me wants to go straight to my car, drive home, cocoon myself in blankets and drain myself of tears until I can never cry again.

And yet another part of me still would rather pretend neither of those scenarios exist and lose myself in the night for the next few hours with this handsome stranger. A handsome stranger who smiles a lot.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask him, “don’t you have better things to do at the party?”

He shrugs, “I can’t drink because I have to work at 5. A party is not as much fun when you don’t really know anyone there.”

I huff and crumple my ice cream wrapper in my fist, “You don’t want to know any of the people in there, trust me.”

He nods in acknowledgement but says nothing, he just shakes the last few drops of water from his bottle to his mouth. I sip from my bottle as well. Against my better judgement, I check my phone. No texts. Clearly no one at the party has noticed my absence.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket, a cold, bitter feeling settling in my stomach.

“Hey Dojoon, do you wanna know what I’m in the mood for?”

\------------

If I thought the empty convenience store was a sensory overload I don’t know why I thought the blinking lights and whirring machines of the arcade were going to be any better. The walk over here was sobering, but maybe not enough. Despite Dojoon’s insistence that this was a “warm winter” the windy beach air still bit at my very raw face. As I stand at the threshold of the arcade, I feel the Samanco fish swimming in my gut. Dojoon notices.

“Do you wanna go?” he asks, surprising me with how close his lips are to my ear. Once again I feel incredibly aware of him. I know the arcade is loud, but does he have to get so close? I don’t need him to be sending chills down my spine. I shake my head vigorously.

“No!” I tell him, “I came here because I wanna hit something! That’s what we’re gonna do!”

He nods and steers me up the stairs past the crane machines and racing games to a quieter second floor, where the more athletic arcade attractions are. We pass by the punching bag game to approach where Dojoon clearly wants to go-- the batting cage.

“How about this?” he says, gesturing to the baseball bats. 

“I feel like there are better things to hit in this arcade,” I tell him, “Less accuracy. More aggression.”

“We can hit everything in here if that’s what you want,” he tells me teasingly, taking my jacket from me, “We can even hit Mario Kart, just for you.”

I make a face at him and step into the cage, fumbling in my wallet for a 1,000 won bill. When the machine revs up I hear Dojoon behind me.

“Fighting!” He yells.

I respond by missing about 90% of the balls that are sent to me, screaming a lot, and shoving another bill into the machine to do it all over again.

“Feel good?” he asks as I exit the cage, running my fingers through my disheveled hair and straightening out my sequin dress. He had spent the entire duration of my batting time laughing and cheering for me, with such intense support it didn’t even matter if I was connecting with any of the baseballs that flew towards me.

“Yes. It was very cathartic,” I respond. He waggles his brows at me in an “I told you so” kind of way and then goes to the cage door for his turn. He removes his coat and hands it to me, revealing that in addition to glitter there’s a good amount of confetti stuck to his black turtleneck. 

“Did you arrive to the party inside a piñata, Dojoon?” 

He chuckles as he brushes off his chest and stomach, “My friends had me on the receiving end of a couple party poppers.”

Something stirs inside me as I watch him. The turtleneck is much more form fitting than I previously thought. For a moment, I feel like he is looking at me too. Then he turns to go into the cage. He's about to close the door when he remembers something.

“Can you hand me my wallet?”

I fish for it inside his coat pockets.

“Is this candy in here? Maybe you are the piñata,” I comment as I hand his wallet to him.

“I'm very glad you went first with the baseball bat now,” he says as he takes it from me, “And don’t eat the candy. It’s very old.” 

He puts a bill into the machine and shoves his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. His jeans are also rather form fitting, I find myself noticing. I need to stop looking at him.

“Dojoon, fighting!” I yell as the machine revs up. He turns his head to look at me and gives me a wink. My heart does several acrobatics before leaping up into my throat. Am I still drunk?

Dojoon swings and misses the first ball. He curses but I can see he's still smiling, ready to catch the next one. I think this sums up everything I already know about him. He jumps in headfirst, laughs off the losses and prepares for the next challenge. How very unlike me, who had an emotional breakdown at my own party. 

The next ball he hits with a satisfying crack! Without thinking I immediately let out a whooping cheer for him. Even though I hit very few balls during my turn in the cage, Dojoon always gave me enthusiastic praise. It’s only fair to cheer every time he hits a ball, right? I’m definitely not doing it because of how hot he looks. I’m definitely not looking at how his back and hips twist every time he swings the bat.

He exits the cage after the machine stops, proudly announcing that he only missed two balls, as if I didn’t already know from watching him. 

“I’m disappointed. I was hoping you’d be a little worse,” I tell him as I hand him his coat.

“I can't be bad at everything,” he replies with a smirk as he puts it on, “now let's hit some more things!”

\------------

“I don't know what I was expecting, but I didn't think you’d be this cheesy,” I say, shaking the box of sparklers in my hand as we walk along the beach adjacent to the shore. It's past 3am already and the beach is still pretty sparse, but a few people can be spotted playing with fireworks. The Gwangan bridge glitters over the water, contrasting the dark sky. The sand is soft and my heels keep sinking into it, and without being prompted Dojoon has taken it upon himself to hold me under my arm to help me walk.

“What you see as cheesy I see as wholesome fun,” Dojoon replies with a huff, “can't you just let a man re-live his childhood memories in his home city?”

“You're a pretty wholesome guy, aren't you?” I remark as I pull my coat closer around my body, “usually when a man at a bar says ‘you wanna get out of here?’ it's not to take me to an arcade or for a walk on the beach.”

“Oh is that what you thought?” Dojoon says with a mischievous glint in his eye, pulling me closer, “what kind of man do you think I am?”

My heart skips a beat, and I can barely stutter out a response, “I…”

“Don't worry, I couldn't whisk you away to a motel here if I wanted to,” Dojoon tells me, glancing at the surrounding buildings, “Gwangalli is expensive and I don't have that kind of money.”

Part of me wants to say, “you don't want to take me to a motel?” but I know he's just joking. Still, my heart jumps a little bit at the idea of it. Running off to motels with men I had just met was not something I made a habit of, but there wasn't anything holding me back. After what had happened with Taewoo, I should be sleeping with every handsome man I meet just to stick it to him. 

Speaking of Taewoo, all of the guests he invited to the party were disgustingly rich. How could Dojoon, someone attending the party, not have enough money for a motel?

“Is that what I think it is?” Dojoon says, stopping my train of thought. I follow his eyes to the stairs leading up to the sidewalk, but I can't tell what he's talking about.

Dojoon leads us over to the stairs and up to the sidewalk. When we get there I see what he is referring to. Under the shade of some trees, in front of one of the closed bars is a brightly painted standing piano with a sign containing the words:

“Play me! Temporary art installation”

“I love these,” Dojoon says as he plays a chord, “ooh, it's out of tune.”

I definitely can't tell whether or not it's in tune. Like magic, Dojoon starts conjuring a beautiful melody from the piano. He starts to sing a song that I remember from… somewhere. The melody feels recent, like trying to remember a song I heard in a dream. It's almost as if I was just listening to it... at the New Year's Party. I gasp and bring both hands to my mouth, a realization dawning on me.

“You're from the band!” I exclaim, “you're the pianist!”

“Technically I play acoustic guitar as well,” he informs me as he continues to test the keys on the piano, “did you really just recognize me now?”

“This is so embarrassing,” I say, my hands still on my cheeks, “I was even in charge of booking you guys for the party.”

“I know,” Dojoon replies, smirking, “I remember your voice from the phone calls.”

Suddenly the image of Dojoon playing the keyboard and singing onstage with his four other band members resurfaces in my memory. I knew I had seen that charming smile before.

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“If you knew I was someone you hired, would you have let me run off when I'm supposed to perform again at 5am?”

I purse my lips instead of responding, because he and I both know I would have been a hard ass about it. I wouldn't say I was mean to them in the process of booking their band for our party, but I was definitely firm. I may have even made a few threats to them regarding drinking too much between the 11pm and 5am performances.

I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him from all of the interactions we had over the phone. Sometimes I had spoken to managers, but other times I spoke to the band members themselves. I had gone through many rejections before I was finally able to book any performance at all for the party. By the time I had gotten to them I didn’t care who they were or what kind of music they made, and I was never all that good at keeping up with music anyway. Getting a quality live band to perform twice at such ridiculous hours was no easy feat, regardless of how much money Taewoo was willing to pay.

“I didn't really hire you,” I admit, “My… my ex boyfriend is the one paying for everything.”

Dojoon hits a bad note and stops playing. He doesn't look at me. I can tell he's trying to hide his reaction.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“I know you probably met him at the bar,” I tell him, “he’s not always like that. He gets that way when he drinks.”

“I'm glad to hear he isn't always groping every woman he sees,” Dojoon mutters and keeps his eyes focused on the keys. 

For a moment there is silence between us, and then Dojoon speaks again, “you know, I can see a lot more from the stage than people might think. I saw you. I saw him, too.”

“You did?”

Dojoon nods but doesn't say anything, he just looks at me. There's no smile on his face now. Instead there's an expression I can't quite discern. Suddenly, The night air feels much colder. 

Is it pity? Has he been doing this because he feels bad for me? Did he see how Taewoo treated me at the party, and that's why he decided to go on this ridiculous adventure with me? For some reason, I can’t bear the thought of it. I can feel my insides twisting at the idea that these past couple hours have been a charity case for him. 

Words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them.“Look, maybe you saw Taewoo with his tongue in some pretty young girl's mouth, but that's not the reason I was crying.”

Dojoon still doesn't speak, he just waits for me to finish talking.

“He broke up with me a week before the party. A week. I made so many promises to so many people and he expects me to just disappear from the picture because ‘we want different things’. He's full of shit and I'm glad we broke up, but I had to come. I had to make sure they kept the bar open, and that the band arrived on time, and that we had enough expensive whiskey for his stupid friends from Daegu or else god forbid the entire evening would be ruined and--”

I feel hot tears forming in my eyes, but I still can't stop.

“Why did I even bother? What's the point of working hard if people are just going to take advantage of you? Why did I bust my ass just so he could take all of the credit? I'm so-- I'm so fucking stupid.”

The tears start to fall.

“Hey now,” Dojoon comes to the other side of the piano where I'm standing, “you are not stupid. This is not your fault. Shitty people do shitty things to good people. I-- can I hug you?”

I don't answer, I just bury my face in his chest. Dojoon wraps his arms around my waist.

“I was outside crying because I felt sorry for myself. I'm here with a stranger because I had no one else to be with on New Year's Eve. I'm pathetic.”

“You don't have to feel sorry for the actions of other people,” Dojoon soothes, “and you don't have to feel bad for trying to do something well.”

He tilts my face to look up at him and places a hand on my cheek, wiping a tear with his thumb, “and anyway, I am a very cool stranger. You and I are very cool for ditching a stupid party and having fun on New Year's. You're not pathetic.”

I let out another choked laugh and press my forehead to his chest again. In just a few hours I've found myself crying in front of Dojoon again. We've come full circle.

“You did a great job planning everything,” Dojoon goes on, “I could tell the moment we arrived. You did well. You should be proud.”

“Thanks,” I mumble into his chest. His words make me feel lighter. Maybe all I needed was someone to acknowledge how hard I had worked, how much I had given and how difficult it had been for me. By whisking me away from all of those toxic people at the party, Dojoon had given me exactly what I needed.

I pull away and wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my coat, straightening my dress and taking a deep breath.

“Let's go light up those sparklers before it's too late.”

\------------

The first three sparklers in the box are duds. Dojoon and I spend what feels like an hour standing by the shore trying to light them until we give up and move on to the next ones. Despite my insistence that the entire box is faulty and we were clearly ripped off, Dojoon wants to try every single one, just to make sure. 

“This one for sure!” he says, flicking the lighter under the sparkler I'm holding. Five seconds pass. Ten seconds. Right as I start to tell him it's not gonna work, the sparkler ignites and we both scream with excitement. 

“Yes!” Dojoon exclaims victoriously, “quick-- try the next one!”

I hand him the sparkler and fumble for another one. I hold mine to his, touching the end to the glittering flame. To our delight, a bright spark blooms from the end of my sparkler.

“It works!” I exclaim, and both Dojoon and I start waving around our sparklers triumphantly. While I start making loops and hearts in the air Dojoon recites every spell from Harry Potter that he knows. It all feels so childish, but I don’t even care. No matter what I am doing, if Dojoon is there it feels like fun.

We manage to get three more sparklers to ignite. I twirl around the last one, writing “Eat shit, Taewoo” in the air while Dojoon laughs.

“You look pretty,” Dojoon says, moving to get his phone, “I should take a picture.”

I prepare to strike a pose, but instead of taking out his phone, he starts to frantically pat his coat pockets. As he starts to check his jean pockets I begin to realize what he's doing. 

“Dojoon…” I start, “Did you…?”

Dojoon gives me a sheepish smile, “I think we have to go back to the arcade.”

\------------

Dojoon’s phone is not at the arcade. Nor was it by the piano. Our last stop is the convenience store, which is on the corner by the bar where the party is being held. Dojoon goes into the store and I wait outside. We've been looking for his phone for over an hour, and it's almost time for Dojoon to return to the party for the band’s second performance. 

I glance up at the bar, lights and music pulsating from within. Should I go back in? I can still get in my car and drive away. Taewoo cut me out, he doesn't need-- he doesn't deserve to have me there to help him wrap up. Not that he would even notice my absence. Now that the party is in full swing, my part in it is mostly over. He's probably passed out in a corner somewhere, considering the way he drinks. 

Dojoon emerges from the store with his phone safely back in his hands, checking it for messages.

“It's almost 5am,” he tells me, “I have like a hundred messages from Woosung threatening to kick my ass, so I better go up there.” 

Dojoon sees me looking up at the building and glances up to the bar as well.

“You don't have to come up with me,” he says, “we can say our goodbyes here.”

After a moment of consideration, I shake my head, “No, I want to see you perform. I'll come up.”

“That's a good idea,” Dojoon responds immediately, “because I think the traffic out of here would be a nightmare.”

He’s right. In an hour or so the sky will start to lighten and the amount of people in the streets will grow. He offers me an arm to hold and I take it, grateful for his warmth. We head into the building, past a couple partygoers smoking by the door who don't bother to look at us. We take the elevator to the top floor, and while it moves I pull him closer.

“It's gonna be fine,” Dojoon says, “if anything happens, you know where to find me.”

“I think I'll be ok,” I tell him.

We enter the bar at the top floor and it seems like about half of the partygoers have caught a second wind. People are standing around and talking and the band members are already onstage preparing their instruments. Some people are passed out by the tables, their friends either ignoring them or putting them in embarrassing positions and taking selfies with them. I don’t see Taewoo among them. 

The bassist (who Dojoon called Jaehyeong) spots us and points us out to the other band members. Instead of being angry, the band members start grinning and laughing with each other.

“Why are they laughing?” I ask Dojoon.

“Because they’ve probably already devised a punishment for me,” he replies, “I’d better get up there. Don’t go anywhere too far so I can see you from the stage.”

He gives me a wink and runs off. In spite of myself, I look around to evaluate how well the party is going. The staff members look exhausted, but they’ve already closed the bar and started getting a jump on the cleanup before the event officially comes to a close. The venue is a mess, and just looking at it makes me feel tired on their behalf. I know they’re being paid good money but I still can’t help but feel guilty. It’s too bad that I can’t make Taewoo give them an extra big tip for hosting us. 

I hear some feedback from the microphone on the stage, and then the voice of the frontman, Woosung.

“Good morning, good morning ladies and gentlemen!” he announces, “are you guys still having a great time?”

Cheers, and a few groans, can be heard all around the bar.

“For anyone who arrived late or maybe just forgot, we are The Rose and we’re happy to be here with you all!”

Cheers and groans again. Woosung sounds like a pretty convincing liar.

“I hope you enjoy our stage and start the year off right. Let's get it!”

The band immediately launches into their performance. Woosung turns out to have a great voice, complemented perfectly by Dojoon. Dojoon is a natural onstage, completely in his element as he plays and sings with the band. Every time he looks over at the girls by his side of the stage I can hear the screams and cheers erupting from the crowd. I remain more towards the back, but I know he can see me from where he is because he keeps making eye contact with me and making stupid faces. I can’t help but giggle. Even from across the room and on a stage, Dojoon is still making me smile.

After the first two songs are finished, Woosung introduces the band members and everyone gets a chance to speak. Jaehyeong and Hajoon give polite greetings. Dojoon is last, much to the excitement of the small crowd of fangirls who have gathered to his side. I'm in no position to be possessive over him but I still stiffen as I hear the drunken “I love you!”s thrown his way.

“Hello everyone, I'm Dojoon and I play keyboard and acoustic guitar,” he announces, “we're so thankful to the organizers of this event for inviting us here. They did a great job, so let's give them a round of applause!”

The bar applauds and Dojoon throws me another wink. I give him a smile and a nod in thanks for the shoutout. The applause fades but Dojoon isn't done speaking.

“Also…” he goes on, a guilty smile appearing on his face, “due to certain circumstances I have been given a punishment to carry out tonight.”

Some of the girls at his side cheer, and the rest of the bar waits for him to elaborate.

“Everyone, please put your cameras away. I’m about to do something very embarrassing.”

A hush falls upon the crowd, and Dojoon casts his eyes downward and visibly takes a deep breath. Then he springs up, both hands in V-signs by his face and bears his biggest, cheesiest grin.

“Bbuing bbuing!” he exclaims in a high pitched voice.

The crowd explodes into screams and groans, everyone cringing except for his loyal fangirls, who absolutely loved it. I myself am doubled over laughing. So this was the punishment his bandmates decided to give him.

After a couple more embarrassing expressions of aegyo from Dojoon, the band goes back into their set, this time with Dojoon on the acoustic guitar. He’s just as charming and charismatic with it, but this time he has greater mobility. He jumps around on stage with the enthusiasm and energy of someone who had not been running around all of Gwangan beach in search of his cell phone at 4 in the morning. 

I peer around me at the other partygoers. The presence of the live band has definitely reinvigorated the crowd, those who were sleeping have now risen from their seats to join their friends on the dance floor. Only about half of the guest list has remained, but I’m impressed to see so many people here. Some people must really like to party.

As I am scanning the crowd I catch sight of the absolute last person I want to see. For a split second, Taewoo and I lock eyes from across the room. I immediately look away, focusing on my shoes instead. My heart starts to race. Why was Taewoo looking at me? Had he been searching for me in the hours I was gone from the party? Now that he saw me, was he going to try and talk to me?

Dojoon starts singing his part in the song. My eyes snap to him, and as if on cue he’s looking in my direction and smiling. The same smile that served as a light for me in the dark since the evening began. Dojoon told me everything would be ok, and I believed him. He promised me I could find him if I needed him, and here he is. Most importantly, he had been nothing but encouraging to me for the entire night. Well, technically the entire morning. Well… technically the entire year.

When the band’s performance comes to an end, so does the official duration of the party. Taewoo doesn’t approach me. Maybe he has something better to do. Maybe he can tell I don’t have any desire to interact with him. With a pleasant sense of satisfaction, I find that I don’t care. 

The bar quickly empties, as people either begin to rush home to sleep or rush to the beach to take photos of the sunrise. I hurry up to the band, who are putting away their instruments.

“You guys were amazing,” I tell them, “I’m so thankful that we were able to book you.”

“It’s no problem,” Hajoon replies. 

“Seriously,” I go on, “You guys are incredible for doing this. I’m sure you must be tired.”

“Not really,” Jaehyeong says cheerily, “we just passed out in the green room after midnight. You were so nice to leave mats there for us!”

The other band members laugh. Dojoon comes over to me, all smiles.

“Was it worth coming back up to see us?” he asks. 

“Of course,” I tell him, mirroring his smile, “Except for that aegyo. It was so cringey.”

Dojoon’s jaw drops, “Hey! You shouldn’t talk, you’re the reason I had to do that!”

“If someone hadn’t lost their phone, we would have returned to the party sooner,” I retort.

Dojoon pouts, but before he can deliver a comeback Woosung appears behind him, slapping him on the back.

“Are you guys coming to the beach to see the sunrise? Some of us were thinking of going down to see it.”

“I’m not sure,” Dojoon says, “We might as well, right?”

“Actually,” I cut in, looping an arm under Dojoon’s, “according to Dojoon’s rules, it’s my turn to decide what we do next.”

\------------

After spending at least a week trying to scope out the perfect location for a beachside party, it’s only natural that I knew where to get the best view of the sunrise. It’s my turn to whisk Dojoon away, and so I whisk him up the stairs to the rooftop where the bar staff dry their towels and tablecloths. A few other wise staff members are watching the sky from the edge of the building, and Dojoon and I go to join them. Dojoon is in complete and utter awe.

“You’re a genius,” he gasps, his hand unconsciously finding mine as he looks over the glittering sea with wonder. The beach is filled with people trying to get a good look at the horizon, and for good reason. The sky is painted with magnificent hues, every color between the bright yellow sun and the deep indigo sky are visible.

“I try,” I say, taking a big, long breath. The air up here is crisp and fresh, and despite the wind I feel warmer with Dojoon next to me. 

Dojoon and I lean on the railing and watch as the sky goes from red to pink to blue. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t want him to. When we are both leaning like this, we’re at eye level. I realize that being this close to his face is dangerous. Being this close to Dojoon gives me ideas.

“Hey, Dojoon,” I say. He glances over at me expectantly. For the third time since we’ve met, words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, “Neither you nor I ever got a New Year’s kiss. Do you think we should fix that?”

Dojoon smiles and closes the gap between us, pressing his lips against mine. It’s not a long kiss, but it’s warm and kind, just like him. When he pulls away we’re both grinning like idiots, and when one of the staff members near us whistles I immediately bury my face and Dojoon laughs.

“I’m glad I ditched the party with you,” Dojoon tells me, “this is so much better than watching the sunrise on the beach.”

“Yeah, I’m so glad you missed the countdown because you were stuck in the bathroom.”

Dojoon just laughs and lets me rest my head on his shoulder. He rests his head on mine as well and we continue to watch the sky get brighter and brighter. Maybe all these people are onto something, I think as I squeeze his hand. Maybe the first sunrise of the year isn’t like any other sunrise.


End file.
